


Ice Takes Time to Melt

by dragonspell



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a long time for Len to warm up to Mick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Takes Time to Melt

It takes a long time for Len to warm up to Mick. 

Mick saves Len in juvie when Len is 14 and Len thanks him for it after he gets out of the infirmary, but he’s also suspicious, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop and Mick might reveal the ‘real’ reason why Mick saved him. He tells Mick as much, his back against the wall, clear outs to either side of him, and his eyes never staying too long in one place as he constantly surveils the room. He wants to know what Mick really wants, lets it be known that he’s not a lackey and he doesn’t do blowjobs. At the time, Mick just shrugs his shoulders because he doesn’t want anything from Len, not really. He just didn’t think it was right for a kid to die his first night in juvie for walking a little too tall and being a little too pretty.

The pretty thing might have had something to do with it, too, but that confuses Mick because Len’s not a girl and Mick’s not gay. At least, he doesn’t think he is. 

Mick finds out later that the latter part of Len’s ‘don’ts’ was a lie. Len does do blowjobs. They just don’t come cheap. He enjoys giving them, though. Also, Mick is definitely not gay: he’s an equal opportunity guy, with a penchant for strippers and smart alecks with pretty mouths and prettier eyes. It takes him until his twenties to accept it. 

Len’s suspicious of him for the first few weeks, watching him extra close when Mick slides into the bottom bunk at lights out. He plays with that pretty knife he lifted off a bruiser the third day, all flashing silver and clever fingers, but Mick’s not bothered by it. He knows that Len can use the thing—has seen it come out quick as lightning—but he also knows that Len doesn’t use it unless he has a reason. Mick doesn’t give him a reason.

After about a month, Len’s suspicion fades, mixes with confusion, and dissolves altogether. He starts watching TV with Mick without constantly darting his eyes over to make sure that Mick’s staying on his side of the couch. When it’s time to eat, he’ll sit next to Mick instead of a seat down. And he talks. All the time.

Mick’s met plenty of guys that like to hear their own voice, but none of them have ever wanted to talk to _him_. At least not for very long. Len, though. Man, Len…

Len complains to Mick about the food. Mick commiserates with a few grunts. Len comments on the show that’s on TV, pointing out all of its flaws and now Mick can’t watch it without seeing them. Len mocks the prowling gangs’ colors and matching hairstyles, the proud tattoos of the Aryans, Officer Lud’s penchant for taking bad bets, and the way Mike the social worker seems to be unable to keep his hands off the ones with the big eyes. Len pontificates—Mick learned that word from him and it fits—about the downfalls of the system and how just about all the boys locked up in here are repeat offenders waiting to happen and how Len is one of them. Len shares all of this with Mick, just a constant yap that only ceases if there’s someone else around to hear.

Mick notices that. He also notices that he hasn’t learned one damn thing about Len’s life outside besides the fact that he has a sister. Len trusts him, but not that far.

It’s not like Mick’s not able to extrapolate, though. He can tell a few things, just from how Len acts. Len hates authority figures, which is kind of normal for a kid in juvie, but Mick thinks it probably has something to do with his dad or another male figure because he always seems to treat the female officers better than the male—not that he ever gets too lippy with either, because he’s too smart to play that game. Smart, too, Mick gets. Len’s always using those fancy words that make him sound like he belongs in college—words that he’ll define without judgment if Mick asks, which Mick appreciates. The kid also loves to read, though he hides it. When no one’s looking and there’s not much else to do, Len will bury his nose in a book or a magazine and have the damn thing read in short order.

There’s times where Mick will be doing pushups, bored because the rec areas are closed, counting sets, while Len sprawls all over a chair or Mick’s bed, steadily reading his way through some book or another. He’s not faking either, which is what Mick used to do in school, because Len actually takes his time on each page and each flip is as measured as Mick’s pushups. It takes about twenty for each of Len’s turns, less if he’s into it or Mick’s slow. Sometimes Len will read aloud to him, too. Mick doesn’t mind. He likes the stories, just doesn’t want to read them himself. Some of them are entertaining.

After awhile, Len not only accepts his presence, but expects it. They’re pretty much inseparable throughout their time in juvie, and when Mick gets released he’s surprised to find Len standing at the gate, waiting for him. Len’s been out a month, long enough to have gotten the hell out of town. Mick would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him happy to see Len’s smirk.

On and off, they pal around for the next few years. Never when Len’s dad is home and Mick doesn’t get to meet Lisa, just learns her name when Len calls her once from the bar. She’s in a private school or taking some kind of lessons, something that requires regular payments from Len, and that’s about as much as Len will let Mick know about her. He trusts Mick, but he’s still a bit suspicious about his intentions around his undoubtedly pretty younger sister. If she looks anything like Len, Mick thinks that she’s probably a knock-out.

And, it’s a fair assessment. Mick likes chasing the skirts. He’s never too sure what he would do with them if he were to catch them, like a dog after a car, but catching is not the point. He likes going to see Rita where she works at Hardison’s Tap Room, have her give him an easy line and a roll of her eyes when he asks if she’s free after work. Likes going to see Sparkle and Jewel down at the club, gives them each a twenty to see their twin smiles. Likes talking to Donna, the older waitress at the diner that he and Len tend to frequent. 

The first couple of times that a girl says yes, Mick stutters and blushes his way through his surprise and Len calls him pathetic. It kind of stings, but it’s the truth. After that, Mick gets better. 

See, Mick, he’s the opposite of Len. He runs hot. If he likes you, he likes you. It’s as simple as that. No adjustment period necessary. You just need to prove that you’re interesting, like a blaze, like Len did when he shouted at Harry Tarpin to learn how to wield a knife correctly if he was going to go around trying to stab people.

That also might have something to do with why Mick waded into that mess of bodies on Len’s first day. Mostly, though, Mick thinks, it’s all about Len.

Len, who’s got layers and layers of ice behind those pretty eyes, colder than an arctic snowstorm when he wants to be. Len, whose smile can rival the sun, but only if he likes you.

Mick spends a lot of time getting Len to like him. 

In between jobs, they hang out at Saints and Sinners, one of the few bars that don’t check IDs too close and Mick gets the feeling that Len’s dad ain’t too fond of it, either, which probably makes it just about perfect. It’s rundown, probably been rundown since before they were born, surrounded by a sea of concrete and empty lots, with an ever fluctuating clientele of lowlifes and scum, depending on who’s out and who’s in jail. Mick makes fast friends with George, the main bartender, because he has a Remington 870 sitting to the right of the cash register and isn’t afraid to use it. Mick likes him immediately. Len, true to form, stays wary, like a stray cat. He watches George open every bottle, sniffs a drink before he’ll try it and always picks the glass up gingerly like maybe old George hid a bomb under it. Mick starts being the one to bring Len the drinks. It works for them.

It’s there that Mick first meets Lisa. She strides in one day like she’s one of the regulars, barely a teenager and full of herself, wearing clothes that belong on someone a little bit older. Mick knows that it’s her because Len meets her halfway with a hiss and a strong hand on her arm, muscling her back out the door. Mick follows out of sheer curiosity.

“Let _go_ ,” Lisa snarls, yanking away from Len’s grip. Her skirt flares as she spins, moving even higher before coming back down. She resettles her leather jacket once she’s free and puts on the most epic pout that Mick’s ever seen. He likes her immediately, too. “Come on, Lenny, you know I’m good enough to pull it off.” _Lenny._ That’s a new one.

“I said no,” Len snarls.

“And I said it doesn’t _matter_ what you said, because I already did it!” She pulls a chain of gold out of her pocket and holds it up for Len’s inspection.

Len grabs it and shoves it into his own pocket. “Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself mugged!”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t have had to do that if you weren’t being such an ass.” And Len snarls—just full-on snarls, like he’s some kind of mountain lion. He makes to reach for her again then contains himself, pulling back into his normal calm collectedness. 

“Okay,” he says. He holds up a finger when Lisa starts to grin. “But you do _exactly_ what I say and _nothing_ more. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Lenny, I understand.” She lunges at him and wraps her arms around his middle. It’s the first time that Mick’s ever seen anyone get that close to Len without a weapon being involved and Mick files that away, too. Len hugs his sister back and then spots Mick. His eyes narrow and he juts his chin. Reading the signal loud and clear, Mick turns to head back into the bar, but Lisa stops him cold. “You gonna introduce me to Mick or you going to keep pretending that I don’t know who he is?”

Len sighs and Mick tosses his head back to laugh. “Oh, _Lenny_ ,” Mick says, coming over. Len scowls but allows the nickname and Mick decides to use it from here on out. He likes it. It’s another crack in Len’s ice.

Much to Len’s dismay, Lisa takes to Mick just as readily as he does to her. She starts following Mick around the warehouses and apartments, wanting to know what he’s doing, picking up the finer points of engine repair and arson, two of Mick’s better talents. Len confronts Mick about it one day, scowling at Mick when Lisa heads off to one of her ice-skating lessons, little skirt flouncing around her thighs. Mick tries to lead Len on a little, liking the fire that fills Len. It makes Mick want to touch, to hold, to see how close he can get without being burned. It’s not right, though, not about this, and Mick confesses that Lisa’s like a little sister for him. He likes her, but it’s not like that. “She’s a cute kid,” he says fondly and Len pulls back.

“Yeah,” Len says. “She is.” There’s a warmth there that Mick feels privileged to witness. He gets a little carried away and claps a hand on Len’s shoulder. Startled, Len stares at him and Mick’s debating whether he should remove the hand before Len removes it from Mick’s body but then Len smiles. It’s not his mocking smirk or that fake thing he pulls out for the marks, but a genuine smile, a small, pleased curl of his lips. Just like that, Mick’s revisiting the thought he had all of those years ago back in juvie about Len being pretty. Len nods at him and heads off.

It’s another layer.

Something else that Mick eventually learns about Len is that when Len’s on a job, he tends to forget that he’s human. When he’s making plans, Len’s all time tables and stats, numbers rolling around in his head like a calculator, and more than once Mick’s found him passed out at the table, head buried in his arms and blueprints still scattered like he’s about to pick one up again. The first few times, Mick let him sleep and put up with the bitching about his stiff neck the next day. After that, Mick started carting Len to bed, picking him up and ignoring the sleepy protests that always seem to fade within a few steps to carry him to whatever Len’s using as a bed. He sets him down, tucks him in, and spends a few seconds contemplating Len’s pretty face and what the hell Mick thinks he’s doing. He never comes up with an answer.

Lisa catches him doing it once, a small, knowing smile crossing her face, but Mick doesn’t rise to her bait and ask her what she thinks she knows. He growls for her to get to bed and turns off the light on Len’s table. “Night, Mick,” she chirps as she bounces on her own bed—one that’s an actual, honest-to-God mattress and not a couch or a pile of blankets, because Len and Mick are in agreement about that one. She flips her purple blanket, the one that Mick actually fucking bought for her because he couldn’t find a way to steal it without getting caught and she just had to have it, over her head and rolls onto her side. Snarts, Mick thinks, will be the death of him. 

He heads off to his own little piece of home, a ripped-up couch that he and Len found in the office part of the abandoned warehouse. It’s got a spring that pokes him in the side if he lies flat on his back, but Mick makes it work. Mick spends half the night wondering about what he’s gotten himself into and why he doesn’t seem to care much to get himself out of it.

Getting Len to eat, too, can be a chore in and of itself as well. It’s not like Len doesn’t like to eat. He does—steaks, salads, burgers, whatever you put in front of him, really, because kids that grew up hungry like Len did aren’t often picky and that includes that weird, bastardized hybrid of Sesame Chicken and what looked to be a chewed up egg roll that Lo Ming was tossing out the back because none of the customers wanted to touch it. Mick tried it once and decided that was enough but Len and Lisa ate it until it was gone. Fucking iron stomachs.

It’s just that Len sometimes _forgets_ to. Like sleep, when Len is planning, food becomes a distant thought. If you leave him alone, it will be a long time before he’ll realize that he’d better get something to eat before he passes out. The numbers ensnare him, ticking through his mind. Once, Mick realizes that Len’s gone an entire day without eating and decides that enough is enough. He hands over the bag of food that he’d just bought at the fast food joint two blocks down, sets it next to Len’s elbow and throws away the bag to make sure Len’s clear that the food is meant to be eaten and not hoarded. Len doesn’t glance up, still tracing the complicated maze of the Waterford Museum’s security.

The fries start to disappear, though. One-by-one, Len absently scoops them up. And, when Mick comes back from changing the spark plugs on the bike, he notices that the burger is gone, too. Good enough, Mick thinks. The next day, he does it again, though this time he starts with breakfast, a plate of bacon and some toast.

After the heist, Len takes Mick out to dinner. Len’s kind of shy about it and awkward, won’t explain why they’re here and he has to pay, but it clicks in Mick’s head after awhile. It takes some time because he hadn’t thought about him giving Len food in that way. It had never been a favor or something to be repaid, just something that Mick had done because he’d wanted to. He tells Len this and Len smiles at the fancy plate in front of him. “Yeah, I know,” he says, then changes the subject.

It’s a pattern that they repeat again and again, another part of them and this thing that they’ve got going. 

A few years later, they’re walking back to their current safe house when Len ducks into an alley. “Hey, Mick,” he calls softly.

Mick quirks an eyebrow at him. In the dark, he can make out Len’s basic outline and a glint where the streetlight hits his eyes. “What?”

“C’mere,” Len says, waving a hand for him to come closer. Mick looks both ways before stepping forward, wondering if they’re being followed or there’s something that Len’s trying to avoid, but there’s nothing but the street and a few other people hurrying home at two in the morning. Len waits for him to get close, eyes on the ground at Mick’s feet. He’s trying to look calm but Mick knows his tells by now, can see it in the way he clenches his fist then releases with a flutter of his fingers, in the way his breathing is just a little too quick. 

“Something wrong?” Mick asks.

“No.” The word is barely a whisper. Mick steps directly in front of Len and the two of them stand, encased in darkness, the light of the main street a distant thought. Len’s fingers slide up Mick’s jacket and curl where Mick’s got it unzipped. Mick’s about to ask Len again if anything’s wrong when Len pulls him forward and brings their mouths together.

Their noses bump and Len huffs and tilts his head, then it’s just the soft press of his lips against Mick’s. He moves his mouth in a soft caress that somehow sends fire down to Mick’s toes. A soft breath of air puffs against Mick’s skin and Len releases his hold and puts a few inches of space between them. “This okay?” he asks. His voice trembles a little on the question, just enough for Mick to notice only because Mick is feeling the same tremor rippling across his skin. In front of him, Len is tense, wary, closed off for anyone that doesn’t know him, but all Mick sees is the open vulnerability in the way that Len is looking right at him, searching for any clues about Mick’s reaction. Mick’s 25 and something that’s he’s been missing finally clicks inside of him.

“Yeah,” Mick growls, and pushes Len back against the brick of the building behind him, one hand cupping Len’s head while the other flattens against his shoulder. He kisses Len, infusing it with the fire that’s starting to rage inside of him, a rough answer to Len’s soft question. Len gasps and his arms scramble over Mick’s shoulders to grip his face, holding on like he’s about to be swept away. Their legs tangle together as they try to fuse to each other from chest to hip. Mick lets his tongue lick at Len’s lips and Len mimics him, slick and wet, carefully measured finesse disintegrating with each passing moment. 

Mick is burning like fire and Len adds gasoline when he grinds himself against Mick, hard cock rubbing over Mick’s. Mick growls and drops his hands down Len’s chest to yank at his zipper, desperate to get inside his jeans.

“Wait,” Len gasps. “Wait, wait, wait. Mick…” He grabs Mick’s wrists and pulls them up. “Oh, God, wait.” His head drops against Mick’s shoulder as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

Mick swallows, short of breath as well, and worry trickles through his veins like ice water. “Too much?” he asks. He wants what’s in front of him— _has wanted_ —and though he doesn’t want to hear Len say no, he needs to know if he’s gone too far.

“Home,” Len says. “We need to go home.” He turns his head and catches Mick in a hard kiss. “I let Lisa go to a sleepover.”

And Mick’s back to burning alive. “Home,” he growls and drags Len off the wall. They head out of the alley and Mick’s nearly running by the time they hit the next block, stopped only by Len’s insistence that they appear somewhat normal. He looks over at Len’s grin—open and wicked and fucking happy for once—and knows that he can wait. It’ll be a close thing but he’ll make it.

‘Home’ is currently a second story apartment two towns over from their latest job, and, sitting on the couch with Len on top of him, pants undone and come cooling on his chest because they didn’t make it to the bedroom, Mick sees another layer of Len’s defenses melt away. Len smiles at him, nuzzles at his ear, and whispers about the things that they can do later on, little, filthy suggestions that make Mick groan. It’s the happiest that Mick’s been in years.

The next day, Mick makes pancakes. Len gives him a blowjob in return, and Mick thinks that he might be forever ruined because of it. Not only is he unsure he’s ever going to have a blowjob that beats Len’s, but he’s got a thing for pancakes now that’s a little embarrassing. Len nearly laughs himself sick when Mick tells him that.

They continue, on and off, for the better part of 6 months. Mick’s not quite sure what they are, but he likes how Len looks at him and he doesn’t want to risk it digging for more. He’s happy enough with what they have. Len’s creative and thorough in bed and Mick likes having it on tap, which is novel in its own right. And Len’s much more easy going after he’s been laid.

It’s another thing that works for them. They keep it under wraps, because that’s what Len wants, and hide it from Lisa though Mick knows that Len’s dreaming if he doesn’t think that she’s going to find out sooner or later.

It’s sooner rather than later when Lisa comes home from a camp early one Saturday morning and finds Mick cooking in the kitchen, boxers hanging low on his hips. Mick pulls his underwear up with a surreptitious tug that he tries to hide by placing his hands over the waistband like he’s only resting them there, and asks her how her camp was. She narrows her eyes suspiciously, then turns and runs out of the room, heading for the bedroom where Mick had left Len sprawled naked across the bed. Mick tries to grab for her and misses, catches up only after she’s thrown the bedroom door open. “Finally!” she declares triumphantly.

Len rolls off the bed and drags a sheet down with him. “Fuck,” he says, from somewhere on the floor.

Mick’s face is hot when Lisa turns back to him. He’s a grown man, has had sex with multiple people—of both sexes now—but there’s just something about Len’s little sister knowing that Mick got down with her older brother that makes him want to blush. Thankfully, Lisa doesn’t call him on it. She punches him in the arm and congratulates him on a job well done.

She gets mad later on when she finds out just how long they’ve been sleeping together and that they’ve been keeping it from her.

It’s better for all around that neither he nor Len have to creep around behind Lisa’s back. Annoying at times and downright embarrassing at others, but overall it’s better. He and Len don’t have the most stable of relationships, sometimes fighting over the stupidest shit, but they’re not the most stable of people, either, so Mick thinks that they’re fine. They hash out the big stuff and eventually the little stuff falls by the wayside.

It’s a few months later at Saints and Sinners, when Len’s sitting next to Mick in a booth and shamelessly stealing his fries that Mick gets struck by a crazy urge. He leans forward and kisses Len gentle and unhurried, like kissing in public is something that they do all the time. Len freezes and for half a minute, Mick thinks this is going to end with Len’s fist in his jaw, but then Len starts to cautiously kiss back, his lips moving hesitantly against Mick’s. Mick grins and runs his thumb over Len’s cheek while Len stares at him, wide-eyed, disbelieving that Mick kissed him in public, that he allowed it, or both.

“Dammit, Rory!” George snarls from behind the bar. “I’ve told you before: if you’re going to fuck them, take them out back!” Mick’s grin widens and even Len has to join in because with Mick blocking George’s view, there’s no way that George has any idea who Mick has in the booth with him. The old man might just have a heart attack if he realized that it wasn’t Rita or Kaylee or Pam, but Leonard Snart. No one would believe that the man who has thrown people out the window before for touching him would let Mick Rory do this. 

They leave when George’s back is turned and chuckle about it all the way home.

Years go by, Lisa growing older, scores getting bigger. There’s an endless parade of apartments, houses and various abandoned buildings as they move from city to city, the cops always two or three steps behind them, and even Len stops looking over his shoulder quite so much.

Of course, that’s when Mick comes home one early morning to find the front door wide open and three strangers standing in his bedroom. Len’s laying on the bed, sheets piled over his groin, with a look on his face that Mick hasn’t seen in a long time. It reminds Mick of juvie and the Len that used to play with a pretty silver knife. Mick pauses at the edge of the door as the shortest of the strangers keeps talking. “Heard about that bull you’ve been shacking up with,” the man says. “You haven’t been letting him breed you, have you? I tell you.” He shakes his head. “My son. My own son. Both you and your sister were always disappointments, but I held out hope for you, but now you’re getting all limp-wristed and soft, aren’t you? I don’t like having Lisa around that shit.”

It clicks for Mick that he’s looking at Len’s dad, the one responsible for a whole host of Len’s issues. And it’s all Mick can do not to murder him on the spot, to go in and start a fight to feel the satisfying crunch of bone. He stays and listens to it all, takes note of the instructions that Len’s dad has for him, and then makes himself scarce.

At eight the next day, Len’s supposed to meet Lewis Snart at a house on 52nd to rob a jewelry store a few blocks down. If he doesn’t, Lewis is going to go get Lisa to do the job with him. The house, however, catches fire before three and the cops are on site to catch three known felons running out and trying to get into a stolen car. There’d been a call placed awhile before that tipped them off. It makes the six o’clock news. 

Len stands in front of the TV, staring at his father’s face as it flashes up his mug shot and starts listing his previous convictions. Mick is sitting on the couch behind him and Len turns around to face him. “The police are suspecting arson,” Len says. “Unknown suspect.”

“Huh,” Mick says with a thoughtful frown. “That’s just weird.” He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Len regards him for another long moment before he moves to straddle Mick on the couch. “Thank you.” He kisses Mick slow and sweet, hands bracketing Mick’s face as entire minutes tick by.

“Nothing to thank me for,” Mick rumbles. “I’d do it again.” For Len, Mick thinks that he might do just about anything. 

Len nods. “Thank you,” he says again, and Mick knows that he’s talking about more than just a little bit of arson. Mick kisses Len, telling him with actions rather than words, and Len meets him there. It grows needy, desperate, and ends too soon. Mick grabs for Len as he slides backward, but Len redirects his grip to his hands. “Come on.” He pulls Mick up so that they’re standing eye to eye. “Let’s go to bed.” Mick nods and Len leads him around the couch and down the hall.

It’s been years since Mick first met that wary kid back in juvie, years spent getting to know Len, scraping past layer after layer to get to the man underneath. He’s never been the patient type, but this, he thinks, has been worth it. Ice, after all, needs time to melt.


End file.
